Stranded Here Without You
by Lament of Meow
Summary: BatmanFlash. Which, yes, does mean slash. Estranged because of a rather heated argument, the Flash and the Bat are nonetheless sent out on a mission together to a neighboring planet. A mission that, unfortunately, goes horribly wrong for them both.
1. Trouble in Paradise

I do not own them. If I did, there'd be a Flash: The Wally West Story movie coming out this year.

This is new for me. I've never written a Batman/Flash fic and I don't really know how this is going to be received. It's just that it's my crack couple at the moment and there's not enough of it out there and I just wanted to add something. Even if it is something I had to write myself…sorry! Thanks for coming by, however, and I hope you enjoy it!

I haven't watched a single episode of JLU except for Flash and Substance and then only that one because it was all about the Flash who is, yay, my favorite comic book character ever. Batman is somewhere on my as of yet still mosh-posh top ten favorite list. I've got the Green Lanterns to mess around with and Green Arrows and I don't know if Wonder Woman should go before Kyle but after Hal and where does Jay or Barry come in and what about John Stewart and hey, Batman anyone? So I just have a mosh-posh top ten. It's easier on my brain.

…Anyway. On with the fic! I hope you enjoy and if you liked the style or if you didn't like it, let me know in a review so that I can either improve on points you think I need to improve on or improve on the points that I think I need to improve on. Thankies!

**Edit: I edited it! Yay! Doesn't mean it's any better, but it means I went over it...soooooo, yay!**

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You could always tell when they were mad at each other. Not because it was such a drastic change from when they _weren't_ mad at each other, oh no, for they were never really up there in the running for the couple most likely to win the "Biggest Number of PDAs" award or anything. In fact, their whole relationship was dealt with such a discreetness that, Wonder Woman and Fire might be quick to say, could (and at times _did_) send out the wrong signals to interested parties that could then lead to some very embarrassing and very emotionally reveling confrontations.

Though they weren't exactly closet cases, either, as said women also found out the hard way. If you asked either of them, they'd feel free to tell you point blank. They just figured that otherwise it was none of your business.

Though Batman pretty much thought it was none of your business period, but Flash always seemed a bit more understanding to the people who had worked up enough courage to ask in the fist place that there were enough of the rather large, and still growing, number of league members that knew about them. Enough that the obvious wedge of tension that had descended rather abruptly between them could be easily and quickly noted.

The Flash entering from the eastern doors wasn't a telling fact in and of itself. The fact that he waltzed in alone when it was a known fact that Batman had also spent the night at the moon base, however, was call enough for a slight hush and frantic whispering throughout the crowded dinning commons. Ten minutes later all bets were off when Batman entered the room.

From the western doors.

It was at this moment that several senior members of the league abruptly decided that they were finished with their meals and, rubbing their arms from the sudden chill, raced for the nearest exit at top speed. The remaining group focused as surreptitiously as possible on listening and watching the estranged couple without making it _seem_ like what they were doing was listening and watching the estranged couple and tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Supergirl had her superhearing focused at their particular and unique speech decibels, all other sound filtering out and draining away as white noise. And though she was no longer provided with the benefit of a mask that could shield her pointed gaze, Hawkgirl still somehow managed to covertly focus her sharp eyes upon the Flash with a quick glare in Batman's direction—it was no secret whose side she would be on in the case of a fight.

The Question, who _was_ provided with the benefit of a rather concealing mask and could therefore be secure in the knowledge that no one could see him do it, felt no qualms about focusing his own gaze on the Bat. Though he was loathe to admit it internally and would never, under any pain of torture, admit it _externally_, he felt a small, tiny, insignificant, barley, not-even-really-there kinship for his fellow paranoid investigator and (though he was hard pressed to admit it even to himself in that small part of his brain where he engaged in such activities as self discovery (though, lucky for the people of his city whose limited and only slightly better than yesterday's chance of survival depended solely on his continued insanity, it was a place he hardly, and rather did not enjoy, going to)) he would have to side with Batman when it came down to it on this issue of, as of yet, undetermined origins.

The hush that had thus fallen over the dinning hall, one stern Bat-glare later, immediately receded back into a half hearted attempt at its former level of conversation. Noticeably more muted than before, however, it didn't take superhearing to overhear the Flash and Batman's conversation when they were forced into passing each other, the Flash headed to the tables with his full tray and Batman to the spread of edible commodities to fill his.

"Flash."

"Batman."

It also didn't take a highly trained investigator with a degree from Harvard Law to overhear the underlying tensions held suspended and packed between the so few letters that the other's name provided. It was clear from these short syllables that more than words had been exchanged within their conversation—though perhaps "conversation" is too strong a word…more like a dialogue; an exchanging of ideas. Overt and somewhat murderous and badly hidden ideas, but an exchange of them nonetheless.

This short dialogue did seem to explain a bit to the rapt listeners and viewers, however. Supergirl, the resident gossipmonger when Black Canary and/or Green Lantern (the John Stewart edition) were off planet, was quick to catalogue the situation. Though Batman/Flash couple tiffs didn't happen often (as unlikely as it might seem, their personalities were oddly and improbably compatible—go figure), when they did happen they were such a source of sadistic amusement for the rest of the Leaguers that in-depth studies had always taken place concerning their then-broken dynamic.

And though Batman was always quick to find and destroy any and all written, typed, and recorded copies he might find of this compiled information, Supergirl rather coyly and cleverly kept it all in her head.

Batman had greeted the Flash first—a slight quirk that implied Batman felt a bit guilty about the situation. Or, rather, as guilty as the Batman ever felt about situations. He was an emotional brick wall as far as the League was concerned and despite various attempts at prodding the information out of him by League members, the Flash was mum on the subject of Batman and his feelings. The Flash who, on the other hand, had stared straight down at his rather disgustingly large pile of food when returning Batman's greeting, a somewhat toned down indication of his own guilt. It was usually obvious enough when the Flash was the one in the wrong (he was usually jumping and vibrating in place with **apology** practically oozing out of every pore as he did anything and everything possible to make Batman more comfortable) but there were also the slight inaccuracies concerning his normal behavior that could lead the observer to conclude that he might also possibly be feeling a little guilty.

It was then completely obvious (at least to Supergirl) that these conflicting emotional events insisted on more observation until a better conclusion could be settled on then "they both felt guilty and were therefore both to blame." Supergirl could barely refrain herself from shaking her head. No. That just wouldn't do. Someone was at fault and in order for her to get her story as juicy as possible when it worked its way around the gossip mill, she just _had_ to find out who.

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"We'll be splitting off into teams of two for this assignment. Each pair will be given a section of the planet to patrol for the period of two days by earth's reckoning. At the end of those two days we will have a conference with the planet's new government and aid it in creating laws to better its populace's daily lives." Superman stated calmly and concisely to the small group assembled before him in the Watchtower's control deck. "Green Arrow, you're with Green Lantern."

"Yessir!" Kyle Rayner, masked as the only currently on planet Green Lantern, mock saluted and marched over to where Ollie was coolly leaning against a conveniently placed wall. Rolling his eyes at the kid's antics, Ollie hit him over the head, earning him a pair of easily ignored, though still undeniably adorable, hurt puppy dog eyes as Superman continued to pair up the remaining members of the group.

"Wonder Woman, you're with me," the regal woman gave a small nod indicating that she heard and agreed, "Hawkgirl, you're with the Crimson Avenger."

Shayera raised an eyebrow in scornful amusement, asking the silent question of if he was actually _serious_. Superman shrugged and pointed over to her assigned partner. Sighing in a way that only a put upon superhero could, she squared her shoulders and walked over to bravely stand beside the Crimson Avenger.

"And Batman—you're with Flash."

The room went silent. Even the hired workers, who had until that moment been chatting about their weekend plans, clamed up as the previously barely held at bay tension cycled throughout the room in horrid waves of increasing and intimidating heat.

If Batman or the Flash had been granted the ability to kill with merely a look, then Superman would have been, at that point, nothing more than a blue and red pile of Kryptonian goo.

Wally paused for a moment as he considered that thought. Superman being Superman, however, even in this hypothetical imagining, would still somehow manage to most likely have some sort of irritating alien immunity or something that caused the Rays of Death to shoot harmlessly off his Adonis-like body and into the ether where they would never be able to harm another human being or woodland animal again. As the rather annoying notion occurred to him, Wally decided that, right then, he would give almost anything for a big 2 x 4 made of solid green kryptonite.

Kryptonite for obvious reasons. Shaped like a 2 x 4 because there was absolutely _nothing_ in the world that Wally wanted more right then than _to beat_ Superman up with his own two hands. Batman, not being a telepath, could therefore not possibly have known what Wally had been thinking. This lack of psychic connection, however, failed to stop his thoughts about bashing Clark's head in from running suspiciously parallel to Wally's. Except in his case the Kryptonite was a batarang. Again for obvious reasons.

Though not melting into a pile of sludge, and not being beaten up by a rapid 2 x 4, and still not being repeatedly plunged into with a sharp, pointy object, Superman could nonetheless feel the utter _loathing_ that was radiating off from the two figures after his little declaration.

Crap. Great going there, Clark—just had to go and antagonize the crazy one and the paranoid one of the group. Clark winced.

His cousin owed him so big for this.

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Please review. I'm sure that there's more of this, it just hasn't been written. If people like this, however, I'm going to try my hardest to get the next part out. Perhaps even a flashback (ha…I said Flash) on how they got together in the first place. Just…review so that I know I'm not alone, please? It only takes a second and I would even enjoy the little reviews like "wow!" or something. I just like getting feedback (though constructive ones do help, but beggars can't be choosers here).

Thanks again and happy future reading!


	2. Sucks to be Superman

I want to say thank you to di'Taykan, spoodle monkey, space0swish, and Ghost-girl-13. Thank you all so, so, _so_ much for reviewing. It made, like, my **week**. No lie. I hope you enjoy this chapter and it's dedicated to you guys.

Please review when you get the chance. Once again, this is a style that I'm trying that's a little different. I don't know if I connected the dots enough, so I'm sorry if something may seem a little weird or confusing. So _please_ tell me if it does so that I can hopefully fix it! Thank you for reading and making it this far.

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Superman was a dead man.

It was the only certainty Shayera was able to focus on as she and her partner continued their flight to their assigned quadrant on the planet Otherla.

In. Complete. Silence. For four hours. Sure, she could appreciate a good bout of quiet every once in a while and she had heard that the Crimson Avenger was a little on the silent side, but come on! This was getting a little ridiculous. It was starting to get even worse than her double missions with _Batman_ for crying out loud! Even _he_ knew how to hold a conversation.

Okay, it usually _was_ only her talking while he made monosyllabic noncommittal sounds, but at least he was still participating somewhat. All this guy did was sit there staring straight ahead with his little fedora and mask as she desperately tried to fly the Javelin without _throwing him out the window_ or something if he _ignored her one more time_—

"I think we're there now." Shayera blinked. What? Oh! Slamming on the breaks sharply, she skidded the ship to a stop and pulled down to a shaky landing. A bit of fate-tempting flying, but Shayera was nothing if not a good flyer. She could do this stuff in her sleep.

"Thank you for driving." Shayera blinked again. The trench-coated man nodded, unbuckled his seatbelt, and was halfway down the stairs and still all she could do was blink. What the hell? She had been trying to get _something_ (anything, really) out of this man the entire trip and he only talks _now_?!

After a few deep breaths, Shayera calmed her murderous rage. At least he was polite. And he could have been worse, she decided. At least the Avenger was a well dressed superhero, especially in comparison to the other characters that were running around the Watchtower nowadays. He _could_ have been wearing red tights, yellow boots, and have a weird "sun" symbol or bullet hole as his insignia painted on his chest. Or something. Shayera shuddered and nodded, thank god for small favors. At the mention of "god" Shayera's narrowed eyes narrowed further and this time she didn't bother to quell the murderous rage. The next time that man paired her up with somebody she didn't know without giving her the chance to _get_ to know them—well, there wouldn't be a next time.

Superman was _so_ dead.

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Superman was a dead man. 

It wasn't that Ollie didn't _like_ the kid or anything (anyone who dressed up in green couldn't be that bad, right?), it was just that he was new and, as all new superheros tend to be, he was curious. Annoyingly so.

"Wait. You shoot the arrow and then it _punches_ the bad-guy in the _face_?"

Ollie sighed, "Yes. That's why it's a _trick_ arrow."

"Ohhh!" Kyle exclaimed like he had found the Holy Grail, "Because it's like you're _tricking_ them into thinking it's just an arrow!"

"Yes." Ollie replied tersely.

"But it's _not_!"

"No. It's not."

"Cause it's a trick."

"Yes. It is."

"A trick _arrow_."

Ollie grit his teeth together hard enough that he could hear his jaw crack, "**Yes**."

"Because you're an archer. And archers use arrows."

Ollie took a deep breath and wished he could close his eyes to count to ten. Unfortunately, he was the one flying their little ship to their designated area and so eye closing was, sadly, currently out of the question, "Yes. I am."

"An archer who loves arrows so much that you named yourself after them."

Ollie didn't dignify that one with a response.

"But…why the green?"

Pausing, Ollie felt his irritation fade a bit at the actual (for once) intelligent seeming question, "…what?"

Kyle shrugged and stretched his legs out in front of him, "I'm Green Lantern because that's what the Corps named me. But that's because we use a lantern to charge our rings and we use the green spectrum of willpower. You use arrows, so I can get the 'Arrow,' but why the 'Green'?"

Ollie thought for a moment. That _was_ a good question, "I haven't really thought about it in a long time. I guess…well, the first arrows I ever used as a superhero were green."

Despite Kyle's almost completely face covering mask, Ollie still got the distinct impression of a raised eyebrow. Sighing, he resigned himself to continuing, "I was trapped on an island—long story," Ollie added as it looked as if Kyle might interrupt, "and there were these drug lords—don't ask—and I had to stop them. I mean, they were drug lords, you know? Don't answer—I had my bow with me, but I didn't have any arrows—it doesn't matter, don't _ask_. So I had to make some from the branches of the trees around me. I don't know if they were young or if it was just their natural color or what, but they were green."

There was a moment of blessed silence before, "That's it?"

"Yes. That's it." Ollie said.

"Huh." Kyle responded, shifting his feet to get more comfortable, "That's kind of anti-climatic. Hey! We're here!"

Ollie's eyebrow twitched and he griped the controls before him a _bit_ tighter than necessary as he brought the ship down to land for fear he might do something he might not regret.

Damn Superman. He _knew_ how little Ollie liked to answer questions. So _why_ did he team him up with the most inquisitive member of the whole of the Justice League?!

Ollie's eye continued to twitch as he came to a rather pleasant and moral-free decision—Superman was _so_ dead.

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All the way on the other side of the planet, Clark shivered and sneezed. 

"Are you okay, Superman?" Wonder Woman asked, her aristocratic face creased in worry.

"Fine, fine." Superman replied, rubbing at his nose quickly, "Someone must've been thinking about me."

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

It took Superman a moment to remember that Wonder Woman didn't always understand the idioms that everyone used in normal conversation, "It's just a saying. When you sneeze, it's supposed to mean that someone was thinking of you."

Wonder Woman's lips twitched up, "Oh. That's…interesting."

"What?" Clark asked as he noticed her almost-smile, puzzlement clearly etched into his features. Gratified that he felt at ease with her enough to let down some of his barriers and show an emotion besides fearless, Wonder Woman was nevertheless more than a little amused at his expense. She was continually amazed at how "in the dark" Clark could be at times.

Turning around to face the think veil of forest that they found themselves in rather than her teammate, Wonder Woman resumed their search for the next tribe of locals that they were to speak to. Simply smiling, she continued to walk while talking over her shoulder, "I'm sure that the saying would hold true if the thoughts being thought about the…ah 'sneezer' were negative ones, correct? For example: negative thoughts emanating from slighted teammates?"

"Yes…oh." Wonder Woman smirked and rolled her eyes, "Oh! Crud."

Boys. So oblivious.

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Superman was a dead man— 

The thought was as far as Wally got before something blindsided him in the face and, without the strength to move, to run, to even shout, he crumpled to his knees centimeters from the Javelin's off ramp.

"Flash—" he heard Batman's voice cut off as he stepped out of the Javelin as well, but before Wally could do a thing, the world tipped out from under him and everything faded into a solid black.

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Yes I know. Bad Lament of Meow, **bad**. I didn't include any Batman or Flash until the very end. I know, it was horrible of me! But I've got the next chapter mostly done and no worries! In it there's a whole flashback that lasts a good while and there's lots (at least more, anyway) actual relationship-ness between the two. Yay! I'm sorry, though, that this is kind of a transitional chapter…sorry! Thank you for reading it though, and I'll get the next one up asap once I'm done going over it as an apology!

Also, please feel free to tell me what you thought…in a review. Please?


	3. Times of the Past

Hello folks! As per promised, here it is a little earlier than I thought I was going to get it done. I'm hanging out with my family, and they were wondering what I was doing on this here computer for about 4 hours. I said I was writing a love letter. To my cat. They, sadly, believed me.

I love my family.

Big thanks to firefly315, Streak13, Kim (I hope this is long enough…it's the longest I've ever written), vizzini13, spoodle monkey, space0swish, fluffyinmypocket, and iknoweverythingLIAR. You people _are_ the reason that I get up in the morning. You also might notice that in this Bruce doesn't know who Wally is and, despite knowing who Dick is, Wally doesn't know Bruce either. This will be explained next chapter (I hope). I also used some foul-language-words in here, so sorry if that offends you. Nothing with the f, but the b and the s one. So sorry about that! Once again, I'm trying something new and I don't know if it'll work—I was never really good at flashbacks…

Anyway, enough of this horribly long author's note. Enjoy!

**Edit: HUGE edit right here. I really didn't like how the chapter turned out, so I did a re-haul and added a lot to the beginning and changed some dialogue. Other than that, though, it's the same chapter. Yay for it not sucking as much! Also, thanks to Oku-San The Monk for pointing out the "feet/feat" thing!  
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The first time Wally and Bruce met—as themselves—Wally got hit by a truck. A feat in and of itself considering that, as the fastest man alive, Wally was easily over one hundred times faster than any semi could ever hope to be.

Gotham had been having one of their cold winters that year—the snow had been falling in sheets for weeks by the time that Wally had come to visit. In honor of the season, Wally had made plans to meet up with Dick and spend some much needed together-time bonding and catching up with each other's lives. It seemed as if it had been ages since they had gotten together as just Wally West and Richard Grayson, two normal non-tight wearing guys out having a friendly beer for the holidays.

Arriving in Gotham a good while before it could ever hope to be considered fashionably early, however, Wally was left to his own ministrations until he could locate one Richard Grayson and start their mandatory Christmas fun. He realized that giving himself three hours to make a five second trip (for him at least) seemed a little preposterous for the "just in case there's traffic" rational, but Linda wouldn't have it any other way. Even as a roommate the woman was butting herself into his life and making him be "responsible" and what not—most of the time. Her rationale this time, however, was more than likely sadly lacking in the making-Wally-responsible category and probably fell more into the her-wanting-him-out-of-the-apartment-because-she-was-having-a-"guest"-over category.

So Wally had been forced out of his apartment with the whole afternoon before him until Dick could manage to get away from Blüdhaven and over to Gotham for their little get together. Wally didn't understand _why _they were meeting in Gotham, but Dick _had_ said that he had family there, so Wally supposed that was reason enough. Still, it made him a little nervous to be about and around Batman's territory. Though he figured that if he laid low and didn't do anything superhero-y he would be okay. And if cornered he could always just blame Dick. Surely Batman would be easier on one of his former Robins then on a man who he had barley any connection to (the Justice League being the only time they saw each other, really), right?

Deciding not to worry about it until (hopefully _if) _it happened, Wally began the desperate process of trying to find something to entertain himself for more than three seconds. Wandering around a local park, Wally saw something that immediately sparked his interest. Huddling down further into his coat and rubbing his mitten covered hands together, the redhead jogged his way over to the temporary ice skating ring that had been set up in the middle of a grassy mound.

After a quick stop at the counter, Wally made his way over to the long stretch of foe-wood brown benches that had also been erected for the season and that had been placed around the ring for people to change their shoes for skates. Tugging on the skates that the lovely girl on the other side of the counter had been kind enough to give him, he then cautiously made his way over to the rather crowded outdoor ice ring, dogging the occasion couple with child with practiced ease.

As Wally took his first small step out onto the ice, however, he learned three very important things: a) just because he had an extremely excellent center of gravity while running on nice solid concrete (or even the occasional ocean), it did not seem to automatically mean that he also had one while attempting to gliding on frozen water, b) ice was really, really, _really_ slippery, and c) just because five-year-olds can do something, doesn't mean that you should presume that you can as well.

His feet, echoing his new life lessons, then immediately shot out from under him and it was all Wally could do to windmill his arms in his drastic attempt to stay upright. Gravity, however, would not be denied and after a final slide of his skate's blade across the unforgiving slick surface, Wally tipped backwards towards icy embarrassment and pain.

Strong, warm hands intercepted his fall, "Woe there! First time on the ice?"

"Naw, I'm a pro. Couldn't you tell?" Wally replied, tilting his head back to look at his rescuer's face upside down.

The man's dark eyes crinkled as he smiled, "Ah, my mistake. Now I recognize that move you were doing. The 'Whatever I do I Will Not Fall on my Butt,' isn't it?"

Wally smiled back, "Yes, so glad you noticed. I was getting worried about your knowledge of the fine arts for a moment there." The stranger laughed and pushed Wally back up to wobble on his own.

"Here. Grab the edge." The man said, guiding Wally back over to the plastic paneling that surrounded the ring.

"Thanks. For noticing my killer moves and all." Wally said while grabbing the rail.

"No problem," the man laughed, "Just be careful with them, okay?" And then he was gone. Watching the man skate ahead and away, Wally allowed himself a small smile—thank god for good will.

And of course the fact that the man was hotter than the Nevada desert in summer didn't detract from the overall affect, Wally added to himself. He had always been a sucker for brunettes (Linda would agree, especially the third time she had caught him checking out Wonder Woman. Or the fifth time he had been checking out Superman) and his hormones had not missed the strength behind the man's arms nor the way his coat had fallen over broad shoulders. And the jaw, of course. A strong jaw on a handsome face made his heart stutter just as sure as a pair of pretty eyes in a beautiful one.

Shaking his head to halt his musings, Wally griped the plastic beneath his hands and slowly began to edge himself around the ring. It was useless thinking about the stranger—he'd never see him again anyway.

After walking himself agonizingly slowly halfway around the ring (and without seeing hide nor hair of the mystery man, Wally unconsciously noted) he felt safe in reconsidering the whole "ice skating" thing again. Pushing himself off from the side, Wally slid himself into the traffic of people herding along the ring. As his momentum left him, however, so did his speed and the people behind him began to get a little frustrated. Wally, trying to increase his speed (something he'd never had trouble with before), stepped out with his left skate and tried to ease into a glide.

Only to be sent wind-milling once again as his skate slid off the slick surface and out from under him.

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

"Stick to the side, loser!"

Still attempting to regain his lost balance, Wally hardly paid any attention to the disgruntled populace behind him and just tried to stay upright.

"You okay there, sir?" a kind voice (a wonderful disparity found among a hundred of its non-kin) asked from his left as smaller hands steadied him at his elbows.

Righting himself with the unsuspected aid, Wally nodded, "Yeah…I just think I'm gonna go sit down—this really doesn't seem to be my thing. Thanks, by the way."

"No worries." The boy said, helping him up, "Here, let me help you—" the boy kept a firm grip on Wally's arm and lead him to a break in the plastic edge a few feet away.

Leaning heavily on the boy's proffered arm, Wally managed to slip and slide off the ice and onto the thankfully firmer ground. Water was easier to navigate when it wasn't frozen and when he _didn't_ have blades on his feet, Wally decided.

"Thanks again…uh…?" Wally asked cautiously, he didn't want to be rude to his rescuer.

"Tim Drake." The boy flashed a brilliant smile and swatted at an arch of bang that fell across his eyes before reaching his hand out.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. I'm Wally West." Wally smiled himself and grasped Tim's hand (the one that he _wasn't_ grasping for dear life), and gave it a good shake. And got quite a firm one in return, Wally considered with surprise. Seems that the boy had a hidden strength of his own.

Steadying his supporting elbow once the introductions were finished, Tim continued to lead Wally over to sit on a bench with Wally using Tim as a human crutch the whole way and walking with heavy steps on his blades. Tim, seeming to have none of Wally's trouble, stepped easily and neatly on the cleared pathway over to the lone bench nestled against the trunk of a bare tree, the only bench that had been set up on the side of the ice skating ring that they had found themselves on.

Wally had just settled himself on the bench and had begun to attack the double-triple knots on his skates when another figure made his way down the path towards them, also completely at ease with his custom blades as he slowly walked over. Tim, who was standing over Wally and amusedly watching his frustratingly slow progress with his knots, waved his arm at the man. Noticing the slight change in shadow from Tim's movement, Wally looked up.

And his heart fluttered. Clearing his throat, Wally stared into blue eyes and at quite possibly the most beautifully square jaw he had ever seen.

"Hey Tim—wondered where you had run off to. But it seems that you've managed to pick up a stray." the man said as he came up to them, one hand in his pocket while the other stayed behind his back.

Without a hint of timidity, Tim nodded, "Yep. You're always telling me to help those in need. Besides, I figure'd you'd notice I was missing eventually."

Wally laughed, "And helping the stupid people who think they can ice skate seems like a nice start with that. I didn't mean to get you in trouble, kid."

Tim smiled, "Forget about it. And you seemed to be doing better out there then _I_ did on my first try. Bruce, this is Wally West. Wally, this is Bruce Wayne."

Letting out a hundred watt smile, Bruce threw out his hand, "Nice to meet you. But it seems that I've already had the honor of your acquaintance."

"Ah yes, my knight in shinning armor." Wally agreed, shaking the offered hand. The name registered somewhere in the back of his brain and he had to think for a moment before recalling just exactly who Bruce Wayne was.

"More like Dark Knight." Tim giggled. Bruce coughed and elbowed him in the stomach hard enough for the young man to give a very real cough of his own and double over, nonetheless still chuckling over his clenched fist.

Wally shook his head in confusion, "You know," Wally said, still tugging at his knotted skates, "You're taller than they make you seem in the newspapers."

Tim, who had just gotten over his laughing fit, was quickly sent into another one. Bruce just smiled again, "You can't always believe what you see in the news."

"Seems not. They also said you were a no good womanizing asshole."

And Tim was officially gone. "Yes…well, I don't suppose it helps when you date the reporters. They always take it harder than usual when you break it off and unfortunately they _do _have the means to make it quite public."

Wally smirked, "How horrid of them. How dare they be mad that you broke up with them!"

Bruce smirked back, "At times it was a mutual detachment."

"Of course." Wally said nonchalantly.

"And you're one to criticize. Seems to me that you're giving up here, Mr. West." Bruce commented, changing the subject and gesturing at Wally's skates.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Wayne, but it's more like facing reality: I suck. I mean, give me a track anytime and I'll show you all about speed. Give me a stretch of ice, though, and it seems the fastest thing I can do is fall down on my butt." Wally answered as he finally managed to undo the knots on his skates. Only to realize that his shoes were over_ there_ by the other benches where he had changed into his skates while he was over _here_ on this bench.

A pair of white and red trainers were pushed into his line of vision. Blinking owlishly at his very own shoes, Wally took them and glanced back up into Bruce's eyes.

"Think of it like running on water, then." Bruce said returning to the previous strand of conversation and relinquishing his hold on the shoes.

Wally, taking the shoes and beginning to put them on his feet paused, "…what?"

"You said you run. So don't think about it as walking on ice, it's more like running on water." Bruce said.

"Which, funny enough, _is_ actually what you're doing when you skate." Tim added once he picked himself off from the small snow indention he had made in the ground where he had fallen in his fit of hilarity.

Wally was a tad confused, "I'm not sure what you guys mean. I'm somewhat completely sure that my skates meet nice solid ice when they're on that ring."

Tim and Bruce shared a look, "Actually…" Tim began and Wally raised his eyebrow. Tim laughed and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders at Bruce.

Sighing as if greatly put upon, Bruce rolled his eyes, "When you skate, your blade cuts an indent through the ice—you can see that, don't give me that look, West. The millisecond that you melt that thin strip you are, for a moment, gliding on water. So you're literally walking—well, _gliding _I suppose—on the melted ice." Wally snorted, he was a mechanic by trade but he had developed a certain interest in science recently and the explanation still managed to confuse him royally. The premise sounded preposterops, however. Bruce, noting Wally's snort of disbelief, tried to persuade him further, "Scouts honor, I swear."

"I've known you for less than thirty minutes and still I can say with certainty that you've never spent a single day as a boy scout."

"Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye?"

Wally cracked a smile at the playground saying, "Well, with a promise like that I suppose I _have_ to believe you, then."

Bruce smirked back, "That was the idea. Can't let my faultless reputation of never being wrong become tainted, can I? It'd be bad press after all."

Tim, whose sides were still smarting, let out a quick burst of laughter before covering his mouth with his hands and hiding his residual chuckles. Bruce quirked an eyebrow at the teenager. Noting Bruce's reaction, Wally couldn't help but tease, "It seems that it's a little late for that, Mr. Wayne."

"It would seem so, Mr. West. Of course, what do the young know? You're—what again, Tim? Twelve?"

As if flicking a switch, Tim went from arrogant laughter to undignified rage, "Bruce! You know very well—"

"Yes, yes!" Bruce said laughing. Tim, who Wally thought must be at least sixteen, continued to act more like his accused twelve as he blew a raspberry at his still smirking companion. Wally couldn't help but join in with laugher at Tim's indignant put upon look.

Rolling his eyes, Tim glanced at his wristwatch that just barley peaked out from between his glove and coat sleeve, "Anyway, I have to be going. My dad'n mom'll be worrying if I stay here any later. And you know they love any excuse to worry."

"Go ahead, Tim. Maybe I'll see you later?" Bruce asked. And maybe it was just Wally's imagination, but he could swear that there was something underlying in that question.

"Maybe." Tim replied. And there it was again, Wally thought, as Tim waved his goodbyes and headed off through the streets with a quick, "Hope to see you again, Mr. West!" in Wally's direction.

"Nice kid, huh?" Bruce commented to Wally as they watched Tim cross a particularly crowded street, weaving through traffic like a true native of Gotham.

"Yes…he is." Wally agreed with a look at Bruce. Were they cousins or something? There was nothing in any article that Wally had ever read about the millionaire that suggested he had any family (Though it wasn't like he obsessed over the man, it was just that he liked to know about someone who had been such a big influence in his best friend's life). Maybe he was just sponsoring Tim—paying the teenager's way through school and this was just some "bonding" outing or something.

"Hey, you still with me West?" Bruce prodded, pulling Wally out of his musings.

"Yeah, sorry about that." It was probably that sponsoring thing. Just the superhero in Wally rearing its paranoid head again, looking for weird connections were there weren't any. He was hanging around the watchtower to much, it seemed Batman was rubbing off on him via his horrible feng shui-ed moon base.

"Good," Bruce smiled and now that they were alone, Wally's heart apparently thought it was okay if it skipped a few more beats, "Now, let's try that skating thing again."

Wally smiled back and began to untie his shoes that he had _just_ finished putting back on his feet, "If you insist."

* * *

An hour or so later with a few added scraped knees and completely numb fingers, Bruce and Wally slumped out of the park that had held the ice ring, keeping each other up as they all but laughed themselves into a coma. 

"And then she…she thought you were serious!" Wally choked out as he warbled on sluggish feet.

"I don't think I've ever _seen_ someone turn that shade of…of…violent!" Bruce agreed, smile stretching across his face. Bruce was an okay guy, Wally had decided. He had been a little uptight at first. Despite his constant smiling, Wally could tell that it had never really reached his eyes. After Wally's fiftieth or so fall, however, Bruce had been laughing hard enough to cry.

"No way, not violet. Lavender more likely!" Wally corrected. Wally had finally (after hours and hours) gotten the hang of the skating thing and could go all of three feet before needing to be saved. As the time ticked by surprisingly fast, Wally found that it was soon time that he would have to meet up with Dick. After announcing his approaching previous engagement, Bruce had then insisted on escorting him to his meeting place, and, no matter what Wally said to try and dissuade him, Bruce continued to persist. Said it was "dangerous" to be walking around at night by yourself. Rolling his eyes, Wally had reluctantly agreed. On their way out of the ring, they had been cornered by a reporter and had been questioned as to their disheveled and ice-incrusted appearance that they had received from the ice skating lessons just moments before. Still caught up in the feeling of absurdity that came from one to many falls, Bruce had calmly answered that they had just finished having rabid sex in a tree. Wally snorted at the memory of the utter _shock_ that had startled the reporter enough to allow them a hurried and flustered escape as they fought back their laughter.

"No…" Bruce considered.

"Puce!" they both exclaimed simultaneously.

"Yes! That's it!" Wally agreed, as they halted in their progress, "She was a fetching shade of puce. You do realize that the tabloids are going to have a field day with this, yes?"

"Ha! Let them. They were running out of material anyway." Bruce said, giggling and turning his head to share a smile with Wally. To the passerby, they were sure to look like two drunks. Wally had certainly laughed enough that his head seemed light and in a state easily comparable to drunkenness. And it was this that he then blamed his next action on.

Leaning in the few inches separating their faces, Wally snickered and giggled the whole drunken way to Bruce's lips.

The kiss was brief—a moment of laughter and adrenaline based pressing of chapped lips against equally chapped lips. In an instant, Wally leaned back and, laughter suddenly gone, refused to look Bruce in the eyes. Damn it. Had to ruin everything, didn't he? He was sure that they were headed on their way to a great friendship and he had to go and mess it all up. Wally was still close enough to Bruce that he could feel the man release the breath that he had been holding and winced as he felt him begin to move.

Blinking, Wally's chin was turned up and before he had a chance to say a thing, to try and explain away his actions, lips were crushed onto his once again. This kiss was not brief. It was hard and wet and just a bit sloppy—something that could be fixed with practice.

Lots and lots of practice, Wally thought as Bruce's tongue traced his bottom lip. Reaching out with his own tongue to intercept, Wally couldn't help but vibrate. Just a little.

Breaking off, Bruce stared down at Wally in confusion, "Are you okay? You're shaking." Bruce's eyes widened and he dropped his hands from where they had crept up Wally's back to nestle in his hair, "You…you do want this, right? I just thought…oh god, I'm so sorry!"

Wally only had a chance to whine lowly in his throat when Bruce broke off the kiss before Bruce was off on some tangent or another—Wally wasn't really able to pay much attention at the moment to anything other than the feeling of his body pressed against the utter _rock_ that was masquerading as the body of the man before him. Wally squinted up at Bruce's confused eyes as the words finally infiltrated through the foggy battleground that currently was his mind. Man, this guy was almost paranoid enough to_ be_ a superhero (And really, what were the chances of _that_?). Wally had kissed him first, what was he worrying about? "Bruce. Bruce!" Wally called, focusing the rambling millionaire's gaze back on him, "Don't worry so much! I kissed you first, you dope. It should be obvious that I want…this."

"But you were shaking—"

Wally smiled, "Yeah…uh, I do that when I'm happy. Which I was."

Bruce, calmed somewhat at the fact that, even though he had been given the chance, Wally still hadn't taken off running, quirked an eyebrow, "No way."

Wally blushed, "Shut up!"

"That's…that's so cute." Bruce said. Wally could only marvel at Bruce's quick acceptance and turn of attitude. And then he registered what he had just been called.

"Cute?! You think I'm _cute_?!"

"Yep. Adorable, in fact." Bruce said, smirking.

Smug bastard. "Why you smug bas—"

"Now, now Wally," Bruce said against the redhead's lips, interrupting Wall's rant in the best way possible, "there's no need to get so crude." Wally just 'humph'ed. Grinning, Bruce rubbed his lips against Wally's before pressing lightly. Rolling his eyes and mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'll give you **cute**," Wally forcefully captured Bruce's mouth with his own, nipping at his lips and running his tongue against the teeth and gums of Bruce's open mouth.

Playfulness gone in a second at the swipe of flesh, Bruce growled and kissed back. Groaning at the vibration that echoed along his throat and through their pressed chests, Wally still managed to smirk and open his eyes to glare lightly at Bruce's closed ones.

He _always_ got the last word.

And that was when a six wheeler came careening down the street, clearly out of control and thumping against and then suddenly on the curb, heading straight at them. Wally, facing the semi and able to see it's approach, still only had enough time in his unprepared state to throw Bruce completely out of the way while only managing to mostly lunge himself out of the truck's path of destruction. Caught off guard as he was, he was unable to completely edge out of the way and Wally screamed as pain blossomed along his left leg.

Tumbling to the ground, Wally turned once, twice, thrice, before slumping and lying still. His vision grew fuzzy and he was just able to make out a pair of boots running towards him before the fuzzies went from peripheral to central and the snow flew up in a red wave and he couldn't breathe and his leg _hurt_ and then the soothing feeling of nothing overtook him and all he saw after that was a reassuring black.

* * *

Groaning, the Flash lolled his head to the side. It felt like someone had emptied out his head and filled it with cotton. Swiping his tongue against the backs of his teeth, Wally still had enough energy to wince at the stale fuzzy sweaters that had overtaken his mouth. That cotton—it was everywhere. Soon it'd be as flexible as spandex and then they'd all get to wear breathable uniforms. At last! 

Flash cackled a bit at the lame joke, wincing as it jostled his arms that were pulled tight above his head. A slight tug assured him that, yes, they really _were_ on nice and tight. Grinning despite the predicament, Flash rolled his eyes behind the safety of his mask. Silly kidnappers, shackles were for kids! Or, at least, Wally conceded, kids who couldn't vibrate their molecules through solid objects. Increasing his vibrations, Wally slowly began to phase his arms through his restraints.

"I wouldn't do that."

Only to be shocked back into his natural rhythm by the creepy voice in what he had previously believed to be a small, dark, and otherwise** unoccupied** room. All points which were thrown out the window as the voice echoed in a seemingly large cavern and a spotlight flickered on, illuminating the speaker as well as—

Batman.

Oh shit. "Oh shit."

Grodd smiled, "Oh, yes. Just try and escape, Flash. The minute you vibrate through those restraints and they shatter, **these** restraints," Grodd lifted one massive, meaty hand and roughly patted Batman's chained hands. The still unconscious man nevertheless made a noise of discomfort at the action, "will send an electrical signal throughout the Batman's body, killing him at the speed of light. A speed, my dearest Flash, that you have yet to accomplish."

That wasn't _completely_ true, but far be it for Flash to correct the psychotic monkey that was holding him and his lover captive. That might just be a _little_ dangerous considering the situation.

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Okay…thanks for reading that. This has been the most graphic (how sad is **that** I ask you?) thing I have ever written. I don't know if it'll get any graphic-er, it depends on if you all want me to and if you'd be willing to bare with someone who is inexperienced in writing that subject. I also want to apologize for the cursing once again if it offended you! And I did a little kickback to Superman with Wally ogling him because I…was beginning to feel bad for the guy. Heh. And Linda will also be explained, and I love her to much too just make her a jerk. She's so awesome in the comics!

Right, that's all I got. Thanks again for getting through that and I'm sorry if it's a little rough, I'm not used to editing something so LARGE and I really might have easily missed something. Please leave me a review if anything annoys you enough and also to tell me what you did or didn't like about it. Thanks again and have a great rest of the holidays!


	4. Misunderstood Arguments

Hi there peoples! I hope you all had a brilliant new year that was all full of nice clean fun. I seemed to have written myself into a hole last chapter in that I now need to continue _two_ storylines simultaneously. It's a bit of an annoyance in that it's like writing two chapters at once. Le sigh. Ah well, it means that it looks like I actually write long chapters this way! I'll be keeping to this split style for a while until the first strand catches up with the second with little breaks for the neglected other members of the JLA. And, since I haven't mentioned it in a while, I do not own these characters. They are trademarked by other, rich people, and I'm only borrowing them for a short while.

Once again, huge giant blobs of thanks goes to Oku-San The Monk (thanks for pointing that grammar error out for me!), spoodle monkey, Kim, you who reviewed as a little smiley face, iknoweverythingLIAR, and fluffyinmypocket. I don't know if you know how much your words mean to me. Reading them just makes me _happy_ and thank you so much for that. It's for you guys that I'm even continuing this story.

By the by, I was so, so, _so_ unhappy with how the last chapter turned out that I did a bit of a re-haul on it. I changed most of the beginning and a little bit of the dialogue. It's not necessary that you read it again, but you're more than welcome to if you would so desire. _Gaffaw_.

Enough of these terribly long author notes and anon to the story!

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The smell of antiseptic and the sound of a carefully controlled quiet were the first things to greet him as Wally slowly struggled back to consciousness. Groaning, he tried to open his eyes and winced at the goo that had all but glued the lids closed. How long had he been out? The last thing he remembered was Bruce and—

Kissing him. Wally imagined that if he had been in complete control of his body's functioning at that present time he would have blushed a nice solid scarlet. Sure, he could be a little spontaneous every once in a while, but to kiss someone that he had just _met_? It made him feel so…so…whoreish. He could only hope that it hadn't shot his reputation with Bruce completely.

Though with the response he had gotten, Wally mentally smirked, he could be more or less sure that it had done anything but. That kiss had set off fireworks behind his eyes, made him feel like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks, or had gotten rammed by a huge six wheeler—Oh.

Oh _**Crap**_.

With a jolt, Wally's awakening tactile experience came back to him with the association of _hospital_ and he ripped his eyes open and, as if he'd burst a protective bubble at the movement, pain suddenly rippled down his leg in an echoing response to the sudden sunlight stabbing at his sensitive eyes.

Gasping, Wally brought his hands up to rub at his crusty eyes, the plastic covering on his right middle finger cold against his face. Staring at it in disbelief, Wally traced the wire running from the plastic and up to a steadily beeping heart monitor—his heart monitor. His _heart_.

"Good to see you're finally awake." Wally didn't exactly jump in surprise; he couldn't. His left leg was in a cast from hip down and was hanging from a ceiling sling. The position didn't exactly make for ideal jumping conditions. Though that didn't stop his heart from jerking at the sudden noise, the erratic beat dutifully noted by the monitor on his right.

Eyes wide and still a bit crusty, Wally focused his gaze on the hunched form reclining in the only armchair by the single window in the room, "Dick?"

"Well it sure ain't Dr. McSteamy." his friend dryly retorted and folded back that day's edition of The Gotham Inquirer. Standing up and walking over to the bedridden man, Dick tucked the paper underneath his arm nonchalantly.

Wally grinned, "No, I don't suppose I'm dreaming anymore, huh?"

"Not unless I'm a sentient figure of your imagination. In which case you're going to need a crap-load of therapy," Dick snorted.

"That's for sure." Grinning up at his best friend, Wally suddenly realized something with the help of the afternoon sun streaming in through the window, "Hey! Sorry I didn't make it last night—was it last night? I don't even remember—but I seemed to have been a little indisposed—obviously you know that, I mean, you're here aren't you—hey, why are you here?" Wally paused a moment, wincing as a forgetful attempt to tense his bandaged leg caused pain to knife through it, and the thought chased itself through his head, "Not that I mind, you know I don't, but just how'd you know I was hurt? What hospital I was at and everything?"

Dick just smiled through the verbal onslaught until Wally wound down to his final point. Smile slipping off his face, Dick sighed and settled himself on the right side of Wally's bed, careful about how he positioned himself so as to not make Wally any more uncomfortable, "It's fine, don't worry. You can make it up to me some other time. As to how I found out…well, let's just say that we have a mutual friend who was, ah, _kind_ enough to alert me about your condition."

Wally's confused frown only deepened, "'Mutual friend'? I don't even _know_ anyone in Gotham."

"That's not completely true, Wally." Dick admonished.

Rolling his eyes, Wally stretched out with his left leg, releasing the pent up tension in muscles that had been left still for far to long though being more careful not to jostle his wrapped one again, "Yeah, well, except for Batman, I guess. And Bruce Wayne and his…replacement-for-you ward? Tim Drake. But I just met them today. Or whatever day that was."

Dick chuckled incredulously, "You really have no idea, do you?"

"What?" Was Dick talking about what day it was? Wally was being left in the dark. He _hated_ when people did that.

"It's…not my place to say," Dick said with a frown of his own, "But I'm sure that when he gets here he can explain—"

"Dick."

At the sound of the voice, both Dick and Wally turned to face the doorway, Dick blanching while Wally blushed furiously at the figure framed by the hospital hallway's neon lights.

"Ahhh…Bruce. Back already?" Dick asked, sliding off the bed and standing, Wally noted, almost at attention.

"Yes. Nothing interesting was happening." 'What the hell did that mean?' Wally wondered with a mental glower. Bruce hadn't even _glanced_ at him. Sure, he hadn't been there for more than three seconds, but surely it didn't take that much effort to just _look_ at him. Maybe…maybe he really _did_ think less of him because of the kiss after all.

"That's good, though, isn't it?" Dick continued to respond even as Wally's mind was thrown into turmoil and he stared as hard as he could at the unmoving statue that was Bruce Wayne, willing and begging with his eyes for him to look at him even _once_. What was with the cold shoulder? Wally had saved his life! Not that he thought he owed him or anything, it was just the principle of the thing. If he thought that someone owed him every time he saved them from certain death, he most certainly wouldn't have made it in the superhero business for very long.

"It is." Bruce curtly answered. Noting Wally's stare and beginning unease, Dick shifted his gaze to lock with Bruce's.

Meeting the cold steel that currently made up the optics of the man before him, however, Dick realized that Bruce Wayne was no longer present; the Batman had officially taken over.

"Dick. I need you to leave for a bit."

Stiffening at the tone as well as the implications, Wally finally transfered his gaze, staring instead in shock at Dick who could do nothing more than shrug at him. What was he supposed to do?

_Try _Wally's eyes all but screamed at him. Sighing, Dick railed his courage as a tribute of friendship and attempted to talk the _Batman_ down, "I don't think it would be best—"

Eyes flashing, Batman only lifted his chin higher, his jaw clenching, "Leave, Dick. Now."

Shrugging at a desperate looking Wally (Yes he wanted Bruce to give him some sort of attention, but not if he was looking _that_ angry!), Dick made his way around a scowling Bruce and out the door, shutting it lightly as soon as he was clear.

After the click of the lock sliding into place, silence reined the room. Wally felt like he was suffocating. He thought he had really hit it off with Bruce the night before, thought it could have developed into something great and wonderful but it seemed that he had ruined everything after all with his usual stupid habit of not being able to calm down and just take things _slow_.

Clearing his throat, Wally looked down at his twisting hands clasping the white sheet draped over him and tried to break through the eerie quiet, "Look, Bruce, I'm sorry for—"

"Save it." Oh. Ouch. The voice was deep and gruff, not Bruce's normal one at all. Yet the gravely tone registered somewhere in Wally's mind as almost…familiar. The comment had stung, still, and Wally winced at the implications of his wrong doing.

But he had to try to make this right, damn it! "I just want to apologize!"

Hissing low in his throat, Bruce leveled a glare at the now determined redhead, "Why bother? You've had your laugh. Though I'm sure it didn't turn out exactly how you wanted—the truck and all."

"Huh?" Wally was confused. To say the least.

Stalking closer to the bed, Bruce was all but seething with barely controlled rage that dripped from his every stride, "Don't you **dare** play dumb with me, West."

"It's hard not to when I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You tricked me!" Bruce yelled, rage uncoiling throughout his voice, "You pretended to be this perfectly normal person who thought _I_ was normal and got me to like you, got me to _kiss_ you—" Bruce stuttered to a stop and just glared at the floor, unable to continue looking at Wally's pleading green eyes.

Who, by this point, was severely requestioning and reconsidering that whole psychiatrist thing because there was clearly something here that he was missing.

Voice more controlled, Bruce continued as if he had never stopped, "Was it some sort of bet? _What_? Because I never would have thought that _you_, Flash, of all people, would be so _mean_."

Wally's heart stuttered to a stop. His eyes widened and his mind guttered out until all that was left was an ohholyshitcraphowdoeshe_know_?! He had worked so **hard** at getting his identity a secret again and now this guy _knew_. What the _hell_? What the _goddamn_ hell was going on here?!

"Wh—What did you call me?" Wally croaked, his throat hardly cooperating.

"Don't be coy with _me_ West, I called you Flash. You heard it. What—didn't think I would figure it out? You got hit by a truck and before the ambulance had even arrived I had to set the bone myself because it was healing so rapidly. A few blood tests latter and I was sure. That's how I knew that the truck _couldn't_ have been a part of the 'Try to Embarrass Batman' plan you had going on—you had gotten so badly hurt that I can't imagine it would have been planed that way. But, really, come **on**. Was it worth it? All this just to embarrass me and get out a few laughs at the Batman's expense?"

Wally's head felt like someone had just taken a mallet to it. Repeatedly and continuously. "Ba-Batman?!" he rasped.

Said Batman rolled his eyes, "Don't pretend you didn't know." As Wally's face continued to display a state of shock rather than a growing sheepishness, however, Batman suddenly began to rethink things, "You…did know, didn't you? How could you have _not_ known if you knew who Dick was?"

And then it clicked. Wally almost couldn't stop himself from banging his head against the wall. Duh! Richard Grayson, youthful ward to one Bruce Wayne. Richard Grayson who had been _Robin_ which would only then make sense that _Bruce Wayne was Batman_.

God but he could be dense sometimes. Chuckling at the thought, soon Wally couldn't hold back and he was cackling madly, the short bursts of pain from his leg at the brief jostling movements hardly registering as his logic sensors shorted out at the realization of how _stupid_ you would have to be _not_ to get it.

Bruce's glare slid completely off his face at Wally's unusual reaction, "You _didn't_ know? But…I mean…wasn't it a little _obvious_?" There was little in this world that could reduce the Batman to a stumbling mess that was at a loss for words, but apparently Wally's apparent lack of observational skills managed to register as one of those somethings.

Wally, who still couldn't stop laughing, just shook his head and answered in between his chuckles, "Now that you—**chortle**—mention it, yeah—**snicker**—it does make complete and freaking—**chuckle**—_absolute_ freaking sense. God! **Giggle**—how'd I _miss_ that?!"

Shaking his head in utter disbelief at the cluelessness, Bruce then had one more question that still needed to be answered, "Then why…why'd you kiss me?"

Laughter trailing off with a few resistant and residual giggles, Wally's lips curved up into a smile, "Because you were dashing and sweet. And very, very good looking. Believe me, if I'd have known who you really were, I would have been out of my mind to have done what I did. Especially as a joke. I value my life, thanks so much."

Bruce cracked a smile, "That...really means a lot, Mr. West. Thank you. I think."

"Not a problem, Mr. Wayne." Wally's eyes twinkled and he crooked a finger at the man who was still looming over him, "Now c'mere. I was expecting a much warmer reception from you then I was given and now you owe me."

Smirking, Bruce obeyed and lightly lowered his lips onto Wally's unresisting ones.

"Awwww! It's just so **cute**!" Only to be rudely interrupted by a _very_ dead Nightwing in the now open and unlocked doorway.

"Dick!" two voices growled and, laughing, Dick took the hint and left the room, once more shutting the door behind him and, in honor of the reconciliation tinged mood, decided to let it slip that the exclamation had sounded more like an insult then his actual name.

Well, he thought, that could have gone worse.

* * *

Well, Wally thought, it could always be worse. 

Though he hoped not because if it did get any worse, he would cry. Though maybe not _cry,_ exactly. Manly superheroes like him did **not** cry. But he _could_ whine and complain and be absolutely annoying about it until people's ears bled.

Which, groaning and arching his back to take pressure off of his chained hands, is exactly what Batman awoke to as he finally regained consciousness.

"The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the—"

"Flash." Batman growled out, the one word elongated and slurred as he found it difficult to navigate through letters and sounds while his brain was still recalibrating.

"Hey Bats! Good to see you're awake and all. For a minute there I thought you might just go on hanging like that all day. I hope you know that I wasn't _completely_ serious when I told you to 'go get hung,' yeah?"

Oh yes, Batman thought, that bloody argument. In his half state of alertness he had almost sorta not really completely forgotten about it.

"I had somewhat deduced that." He said dryly, motor control and speech functions once again established as his brain slowly crawled out from the fog and back into the land of coherency.

"Glad you're up for deducing. Now then, find us a way out of here." Flash said only a little bit snidely. Yes, they were still amid a personal tiff, but they were also professionals at their jobs. They could do this without being huffy about it. If anything, it'd show Superman that he _couldn't_ control them and that was prize enough for almost anything at the moment. Suffering through agonizing teamwork while on a mission seemed like a small enough price.

"Where exactly _is_ here?" Batman asked, also coming to the same conclusion concerning their personal versus professional dilemma. Now was the time for teamwork, not petty discontent. Turning his head back and forth in his limiting position, Batman was able to see more and more darkness—it didn't really give him any clues as to where they actually were.

"We're being held prisoner by a crazy monkey bent on world destruction and domination. I don't know where we are—hell, I don't even know if we're on Otherla any more. Toto, we're completely f'in lost, here."

Bruce sighed, "Grodd, is it? Well, you _are_ only in shackles. Can't you just vibrate through them?"

"Not without killing you." Flash said with absolutely no emotion. It was a fact and letting Bruce know how worried he was about it would not only be detrimental to Batman's focus on the mission, but also to _his_ standing in their current argument. And like _hell_ he was giving any ground.

"Oh." Batman stated ineloquently, mind swirling as it developed and tested theories at a rapid rate, "Then I guess we've just got to think of something else."

"Please—be my guest. But I think Grodd-y boy might be listening in—"

"And you would be correct, Flash. I am not so stupid as to leave you two unsupervised." a voice answered, seeming to come from no where.

Sighing as if to indicate, "See?" Wally slumped in his chains.

Coughing, Bruce caught his eye, "Keep talking," he mouthed at him. Mildly confused, Wally nodded.

"I still don't understand why you were such a bastard about it." Wally said. Batman gave him a look and Wally just shrugged again. He had told him to keep talking, it wasn't his fault that he hadn't said what about. Yes, they were being professional, but hey—if Wally could have both professional _and_ personal, he'd take it in a heart beat.

Sighing, but still going along with the conversation topic, Bruce said, "That's because I _wasn't_ being a bastard about it so much as you were being a child about it," at the same time he let loose with a series of clicks of his fingers against his shackles, the myriad staccato forming into Morse Code: Need plan. How shackles kill?

"I was _not_ being a child. You invaded my privacy, I have a right to be offended by that." Catching on, Wally replied verbally while also replying by taping his own fingers to the unspoken question: Vibrate through mine, lightning kills you. Don't know if can move fast enough to save.

"Offended—maybe. Petulant? No. You could have just asked me to take the tracking feature out instead of just not using the headset completely—it would have made it easier to find you in bad situations. Like the one we were in at the time." Batman verbally retaliated. The clacking of his fingers also relayed his message: Have to try. Only choice. Go on three.

"It's not like you would have removed it anyway. You're too much of a control freak. You would have just installed a new tracker and put it in some other place so that I wouldn't have been able to find it." Wally continued their argument while thumping his reluctant agreement: On three.

"For one, that's a lie. Two, you wouldn't know because you didn't come to me, and th—" Batman began before panels along the walls and ceiling opened up and a green gas spilled out.

Wally had just enough time to think that he was really sick and tired of being knocked unconscious all the time until once again his vision clouded over and shorted out into nothing.

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Thank you for managing through that! I hope you enjoyed it and that I'm not just getting worse and worse with every chapter. I know that the whole Grodd thing is getting annoying, however, and can't they just _escape_ all ready? No worries, they'll be out soon! Yay! And you got a little peak at what their argument was about. I will eventually, however, include the argument in the first strand for when it connects with the second strand of the story.

Well. That explanation was only slightly confusing.

Please feel free to review and know that any and all would be most appreciated!


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